


That's My Jam

by tisfan



Series: Open Ask Prompts [15]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Annoyed Sam Wilson, M/M, Protective Clint Barton, Stuck in Traffic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 13:24:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11647452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: celtic7irish asked forSo, I don't normally ask for prompt fills, but I've had a really rough night tonight. On my way home after a very long day, I ended up in a gridlock on the highway due to a fatal accident, and a 30 minute drive took me about 2 hours. So prompt: any pairing - there's a fatal accident, and the news reports that one of the Avengers was involved. Their friend/lover can't get hold of them and freaks out. The Avenger is okay, but their phone died (or was lost). There's yelling, then making up





	That's My Jam

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celtic7irish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celtic7irish/gifts).



There were things Clint loved about being an Avenger.

And he had plenty of time to think about them, because this fucking traffic wasn’t going _anywhere_.

He started listing them in his head. In detail. And then, for the hell of it, in alphabetical order, just because Tony wouldn’t think that Clint could manage that much detail. Suck it, Stark.

Being an Avenger was great.

Well, the hours kinda blew. And there was some sort of fucked up side of the universe that seemed to think that Clint shouldn’t be able to take a day off, because whenever he did, something always, always happened.

And then there was all the time spent in medical (and the time avoiding the time spent in medical, because Clint.) Honestly, Clint spent more time with bandaids holding his various bits together than he ever had before in his life. And he was a certified adrenaline junkie with a history of epically poor decision making skills.

Okay, so maybe being an Avenger was less than great.

But it had some nice side bennies.

Like the fact that Clint would never, ever have met his gorgeous, smart-ass, self-satisfied, asshole boyfriend, if it wasn’t for the Avengers. Speaking of which, Clint would love for his gorgeous, smart-ass, self-satisfied asshole boyfriend to come SCOOP HIM UP OUT OF TRAFFIC with his goddamn wings because Clint had the car in damn Park and had for almost forty minutes now, and he was going to run out of gas if this kept up.

He pulled out his cellphone and punched the entry for BirdBrain2 (Bird Brain was his nickname, and Tony had given it to him special, and just because Bucky had started calling _Sam_ Bird Brain instead didn’t mean anything, right? Right.)

Also, since he was bored and traffic wasn’t going anywhere anyway, Clint clicked the phone over to his Avenger’s comm unit and climbed out of the car. He might get a better idea what was going on from the roof, right.

“Hey babe,” Sam said as he picked up the phone. “Where are you?”

“Traffic blows hoary goats,” Clint said by way of answer. He couldn’t see anything standing on the roof of his car. A few other drivers blared their horns, like they thought Clint standing there meant they’d be stuck longer. Clint flipped them off absently. He gauged the distance between the roof of his car and the semi in front of him. Ah, hell with it. “Rancid, hoary goats with _huge_ balls and--”

He hopped down, grabbed his bow out of the back seat.

“Now there is an image that I didn’t ask to see,” Sam said. “You know that sex you wanted to have, ever again? Shut up now.”

“Okay,” Clint agreed. He eyed the bridge supports, turned and fired a zipline. He inhaled at just the right time so that the jerk and tug didn’t make him cough and splutter and sound like an idiot. He pulled his tac-goggles out of his quiver and slid them over his eyes. “Remind me to make Tony a pie.”

“You? Want to bake something. For Tony?” Sam mocked. “Need I remind you of what happened the last time you tried to make cookies. And that was from one of those pathetic break and bake packs.”

Clint found it completely adorable (and a little sappy, pathetic, and heartbreaking) that he knew his boyfriend was grinning just from the sound of his voice. Take that, doctors who said losing his hearing was going to have a profoundly negative effect on his life. Of course, Tony had also done something about that, with an inner-cochlear implant. No more losing his hearing aids. No more wall of sound coming at him that he couldn’t sort.

“Okay, well, buy him a pie.” He squinted down the bridge. A semi-trailer had shoved through the guard rails on the side. The loaded rig was on its side, the cab part of it hanging off the side of the bridge, attached by only the fifth wheel coupling and a hell of a lot of prayers.

The driver was trapped inside and rescue personnel were trying to figure out how to get the semi-conscious man out of the truck without sending the entire mess into the water.

Clint narrowed his gaze to the fifth wheel coupling and the tac-glasses shot up a ton of data onto the headsup. Including the fact that the kingpin wouldn’t hold for much longer under the strain, which would send the truck part into the river below.

Blink. Click. Thirty meters below, which for a normal, unenhanced human, would be like falling on concrete. Combined with being trapped inside the cab, which was not what one would call waterproof. Already injured.

Standard rescue wasn’t going to get there in time.

“Gotta go, babe,” Clint said. “Something in traffic needs Avenging.”

“Clint, don’t do anything stupid--”

“Aw, phone, no.” Clint said. “Can’t hear you, you’re breaking up, I’m going through a tunnel.”

“No, you are not, Clint! Clint!”

Clint hung up. He eyed the bridge again. Tapped his wrist guard and lined up an explosive, a zip line, and a net arrow. Nock, pull, release. Nock, pull, release. Nock, pull, release.

It was go time.

***

Sam was staring at his phone like it was personally responsible for betraying him. _Goddammit, Clint_. It was a thing. He probably said it, or thought it, or thought about thinking it some fifty times a day, from everything as small as Clint forgot that toilet paper was a thing to Clint attacked fifty DoomBots with a bow and a killer smile.

If Clint was about to start a fist fight in the middle of traffic, that was bad, but only small bad. Lowercase bad. Aside from the whole he was an Avenger, and trained in lethal combat, and generally beating the shit out of a civvie, no matter how deserving, was going to be bad PR and then Pepper would be all over everyone’s ass with her ridiculous stilettos and Clint would probably have to do some charity events to get back into people’s good graces, and that meant Sam was going to have to do some charity events with his boyfriend, because… because Pepper. Which was kinda okay, because Sam’s boy looked good in a suit, and watching Clint try to behave like an actual functioning adult was hilarious.

Especially around buffet food.

Except Clint hadn’t sounded angry and getting ready to go off half (or fully) cocked.

“JARVIS, can you bring up traffic cams near Barton’s location?”

“I can do better than that, Mr. Wilson,” the computer AI said, smoothly. “There are news cameras on site. Shall I bring up CNN or MSNBC?”

“Gimme both, why not. What the hell is he up to?”

News cameras for traffic wasn’t normal. Which meant something exciting was going on.

“... video from the scene shows a large section of damaged guardrail,” the reporter was saying, slightly breathless as she clung to the inside of a news chopper. The camera flicked over to her, hand on the clutch bar, microphone covering her mouth as she talked. Then back to the bridge where a tractor-trailer was dangling off the side, driver held in by the seatbelt, but limp and unmoving.

“Level 2 wind restrictions were in place at the time of the incident, but there’s no word as to whether or not the driver was in violation. Forty-seven mile an hour winds have been causing no end of trouble to large-load drivers, but --”

The picture flicked again; someone on scene was interviewing another rig-driver. “On a windy day, you can feel it, and you’ll be pushing your trailer and your tractor to the left or the right, whichever way the wind is blowing. You can actually feel it; it’s a hurting feeling and you know of course I said a prayer for him…” The underpicture scrawl identified the driver as Charles Lattimore, long-time independent truck driver.

“... water temperature here is forty-five degrees,” the newswoman reported. “If rescue personnel cannot get the driver to safety, there’s little hope that he can survive the fall. Hypothermia is a very real danger in situations like these.”

Sam squinted at the screen. Not at the rig, but above, on the bridge guidewires. A shifting movement caught his eye. He tapped the holo, at the spot. “Can you clear this up any? Enhance?”

Yep. There was Sam’s idiot boyfriend, playing Spider-man.

The fucking news camera wouldn’t stay focused where Sam wanted them to look. Did they not see that there was another player on the scene?

He caught a brief glimpse of Clint drawing back his bow, and then the truck was going over the side.

“Wings, JARVIS, now,” Sam snapped. Straight as the Falcon flew, the bridge was less than three minutes from the Tower. Sam wasn’t the only Avenger with a launch-pad outside the bedroom. JARVIS pulled open the lift and Sam grabbed his pack, buckling himself into it without stopping his forward motion toward the pad. The door slid open without even having to ask, and Sam was airborne the instant his toes were clear, diving even as the wings activated.

 _Don’t let me be too late, again_ , Sam thought. Prayed. Would have stopped to sacrifice a goat, if he could have. Sam was on first name basis with an actual god, surely that had to have some pull, right?

Half the truck was still on the bridge by the time Sam got there, but it wasn’t the half that was important. The cab, presumably the driver, and… where the fuck was Clint.

“Hawkeye, report!” Sam activated the voice-amplifier.

Nothing.

“Come on, babe, where are you?” Sam zipped over where the rescue divers were already in place. He landed on the deck, listened to his wings fold up and the crew there were staring at him. “Did they go under?”

“We’ve got divers in the water,” one stunned crew woman answered.

“Get the hell off my deck,” the captain was bellowing. “I don’t care if you’re an angel, an Avenger, or God Himself, you --”

Sam was gone already. His wings were not made for submersible combat, and even if they were, he didn’t have a rebreather. He wasn’t Iron Man in an airtight, space-worthy armor. He wasn’t Steve, who jumped out of planes without parachutes and could bench press submarines. He was just a guy with a unique skill set, who’d happened to make friends with exactly the wrong person at exactly the right time.

He and Clint had bonded a bit, over their normal-guy-ness.

_Where the fuck was Clint?_

“Oh, no, you are not goan be a normal guy and die on me now, Hawkeye,” Sam said.

“Ohhhh, Sammie,” a grouchy, rusty voice said. “You say the sweetest things.”

“Clint?” Sam pushed his comm unit harder into his ear as if that was going to matter at all. “Where the fuck are you?”

“I see you down there, hoverin’ around like you’re actually worried about me,” Clint teased.

“Clint. Where.”

“Look up, angel,” Clint said. Sam tipped his head.

Just under the bridge, suspended like they were Luke and Han in that stupid Ewok trap, was Clint and what was presumably the truck driver.

“This? This was your _plan_? Get strung up like a Christmas turkey?” Sam snapped. Still, he flew up and landed on one of the bridge supports. Getting Clint down from there was going to take a little more lift than Sam had. Under extreme duress, Sam could carry Captain America, but Clint and an unconscious, injured truck driver was probably more strain than his wings could handle.

“Hey, I had to make it up on the fly,” Clint said.

“You don’t get to make that pun, that is my pun and you can’t have it,” Sam snapped. Oh, god, his chest hurt. “Why the fuck didn’t you answer me sooner?”

A second voice answered, croaky and soft and full of pain. “Mighta hit him in the head. Didn’ know he was tryin’ to help. Sorry.”

Sam’s eyebrows went up. “You got punched in the head by someone whose life you were saving?”

“Aw, story, no,” Clint objected. “And he didn’t punch me, he clocked me with the damn steering wheel. I have a damn _steering wheel shaped bruise_ on my forehead! Now stop hoverin’ around like the world’s most useless hummingbird and get us out of here.”

Sam tapped his wrist comm-unit and opened a line to Stark. “Hey, Ironman, I need someone to do some heavy lifting here. Clint’s eaten too many pizzas and I can’t seem to get him off the couch.”

“Asshole,” Clint muttered.

“And you love me,” Sam said, sing-song.

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

***

**Driver Rescued when Tractor-Trailer goes over the side of Bridge**

The tractor-trailer went into the water at the 1.5 mile marker on the westbound side of the bridge. Driver Sal Bennet was rescued by Avenger’s member, Clinton Francis Barton, better known to the world at large as Hawkeye, who was caught up in the traffic delay caused by the incident.

Barton’s longtime partner, Samuel Wilson, was also on sight, after seeing Hawkeye dive after the injured driver. Traffic is never fun, but sometimes, with Avengers around, it can be pretty exciting.

The entire team turned out to visit Bennet in his hospital room and wish him a speedy recovery.

**Author's Note:**

> [Fifth Wheel Coupling](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fifth-wheel_coupling) \-- in case you don’t know what that is. I worked in a truck repair shop for a number of years, so I saw them a lot


End file.
